


What Should Have Been (and never was)

by bribitribbit



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childbirth, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fluff, the lincoln/octavia is very minor, what if we could all just be HAPPY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:36:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bribitribbit/pseuds/bribitribbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There was something to be said for the excitement of new, strange things, and possibly more to be said for things that were old, and well-known, and beautiful. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Just a day--one peaceful day--that never happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Should Have Been (and never was)

**Author's Note:**

> The other night I laid awake thinking "they should have been happy," and then I thought about all the small things Clarke and Lexa would never do together, and it made me EXTREMELY verklempt, so then I wrote this. Just imagining that they could have a normal day. Also imagining that Lexa never died, that everyone worked together for once, that peace could exist for one goddamn minute in this universe! And that somehow everyone just lives in Polis. I imagined a lot of wonderful things. NB: I've been watching this show for less than a month.

**2 years later.**

 

Clarke tended to wake first in the morning. It had never been that way on the Ark--there, before she’d been in the SkyBox, the artificial light did little to motivate her into action until she was nearly late for her classes. Then, after, when her father was gone and all she could think about was that the Ark, her people, would die of oxygen deprivation in just a few short months, she pushed herself to remain asleep for as long as her body would allow. Being awake was painful. And sleeping, at least, was some kind of respite.

Once she’d gotten to the ground, once she understood what it was like to be gently awoken by the sun’s warm touch in the morning, and once her pain had grown so sharp it kept her awake long past the moon’s rise into the dark, familiar sky, sleep became rarer. Clarke came to love, to yearn for, the grey hours of dawn and the way they stretched into gold and pink.

So she always woke first.

Lexa was the opposite of Clarke. If Clarke loved the dawn, then Lexa craved twilight and dusk. As a baby, her spirit had flooded her body in the dark of night, and that was where it remained most comfortable. 

This morning was different. This morning came after they’d both been awake all night, tense and exhausted. It was like the old days, before the Coalition finally came into its own, before the delicate peace forged by the work it took for all the clans to stop the second nuclear disaster, together. But the adrenaline pumping through their bodies had nothing to do with battle-readiness for once.

“Okay, you’re so close,” Clarke was telling Octavia, pulling away from between Octavia’s legs for about the hundredth time in the last twenty four hours, no small amount of awe in her voice. “9 and a half centimeters now, you’re doing so well.”

“You’ve been--telling me--I’m close--for hours,” panted Octavia, her small and courageous body tensing with pain between words. 

Clarke and Lexa glanced at each other and exchanged a smile. “Well, now you’re really close,” said Lexa, who had only the faintest idea what that meant. She could handle the broken bones and the infections, but generally left the childbirth to Clarke. Octavia’s was the first she’d been actually present for. Besides her own birthday, she supposed. But this was different. Octavia reached out for her, and Lexa took her arm. She helped Octavia pace once more around the room.

Suddenly Octavia braced herself with both palms against a wall and let loose a strangled shout that was different than the rest. Clarke rushed over. “Well, that was quick. Baby’s coming, Octavia, get ready.” She kneeled before Octavia and looked up. The baby’s head was crowning. “Coming fast, it looks like. Don’t push quite yet. Wait for me.”

Octavia groaned and breathed while Lexa could only brush her hair back from her face and make soothing sounds. Finally, Clarke said, “Okay. Ready? Push.”

Octavia, warrior that she was, obeyed the command immediately, loudly, her whole body working to meet her baby. Lexa watched as Clarke reached up and caught it, a grin blossoming on her face as the baby screamed in its first greeting to the world. Lexa poked her head out of the door, and saw an anxious Lincoln sitting on the floor, arms crossed. 

“It’s a girl!” Clarke said proudly as Lexa led Lincoln into the room. “O, you have a baby girl!”

Octavia turned and slid down the wall until she was sitting. “Let me see her,” she breathed, holding out her exhausted arms. Clarke handed over the baby and Octavia stared down at her. “I don’t know what to name her.”

Lincoln knelt down next to her. “I do,” he said. “Camilla was my mother’s name. It meant warrior maiden.”

Octavia looked up at him, nothing but love in her eyes. “That’s perfect.”

~*~

Later, Lexa and Clarke lay together in their bed. Lexa was on her stomach, resting with her eyes closed, while Clarke leaned above her, tracing the now familiar kill marks on Lexa’s back, enjoying the smooth-bumpy texture under her fingertips. “Did you ever think you’d have kids someday?”

Lexa turned over on her side and looked thoughtful. “Not really. I knew that as commander, I was likely to die early. I’m one of the oldest commanders in recent history. I didn’t want to create another orphan.”

“You’re twenty-six.” Clarke shook her head. “That’s crazy. You know, a hundred years ago, people were living to, like, a hundred and fifteen years old?”

Lexa shrugged. “That’s just how it is. I’ve never wanted to live to a hundred and fifteen anyway.” She paused. “Did you want kids?”

Clarke didn’t have to consider. “Yes. I did. I still do, sometimes. But on the Ark, there was this one kid per family rule. Which was fine, it worked for what we had. And I think one kid would have been fine. But then we came down here and--and yes, there’s peace now, but I worry so much. It’s so fragile. And then I think: do I really want to bring a kid into this?” Clarke laughed. “Besides, how would we make them?”

“If we--if I was, say, Finn, or--”

Clarke shook her head. “I couldn’t bring children into this world. It’s too hard.”

“There’s still time for things to get better, Clarke.”

This got a smile. Not only because Lexa had said her name, which was Clarke’s favorite sound in the universe. Probably. “First, I’d like to be the best aunt Earth has ever seen.”

Clarke leaned forward and kissed Lexa, warm and intimate, tempered by the exhaustion slowly creeping through Clarke’s bones. There were times she missed the newness, the vibrant and freeing joy of their first few encounters, the desperation to fill something inside her that had been torn out and replaced with nothing but Lexa. But she wouldn’t trade this for anything, either: the familiarity of Lexa’s fingertips pressed against her hips; every smell and sound that called to mind the hundreds of times they’d kissed, just like this, in this very bed; the way Lexa knew best what would make Clarke feel weak in her knees, and how Clarke knew where to touch to make Lexa wrap her arms tighter around Clarke’s neck. There was something to be said for the excitement of new, strange things, and possibly more to be said for things that were old, and well-known, and beautiful. She used to wonder if she could get tired of it, but so far she hadn’t stopped catching her breath when Lexa turned to look at her, she hadn’t stopped reaching out in the night for the comfort of Lexa’s warm body against hers, and for years now, she hadn’t once questioned what it was to be in love.

A horn blew in the distance. Lexa pulled away from the kiss and reached up to wrap a finger around one of Clarke’s smooth curls. “I need to go.”

“Please stay,” Clarke said, without much conviction. Lexa wouldn’t stay but Clarke always wanted to try. Just in case.

“I’ll be back. Go on, sleep. You need it.” Clarke couldn’t disagree with that. She opened her mouth wide for a yawn and scrunched up her face when Lexa tapped one finger against Clarke’s nose. The last thing Clarke saw before she fell asleep was Lexa leaning in to kiss her on the forehead and whisper, “ _Ai hod yu in_.”

~*~

It’s been years since her dreams were soundtracked by the steady beat of the war drum, and she always looked down to find blood on her hands, and she was always drowning in terror. She’s never slept as well as she did before coming to the ground, but time is healing and sometimes, she dreams beautiful things. She dreams of Lexa in her warrior make-up and their first kiss, she dreams of meeting her father again, she dreams that there are mermaids in the river and that she can fly. Sometimes, she dreams that there’s a summit of the thirteen clans, and Clarke has forgotten to wear clothes, and she has to explain her ideas for building a giant playground on top of the ruins of Mount Weather in her underwear. It feels normal. It feels, unbelievably, finally, like progress.

~*~

Seven days in a week on the ground, and Clarke was allowed two of them to herself, away from medical, away from blood and tears and, too frequently, bad news, even on good days when babies were born and scars had healed.

Sometimes, Lexa would delegate her duties elsewhere, or she just wouldn’t have any, and they would spend hours together, reading to each other from books that had been smuggled from the Mountain before the explosion, or Clarke would draw caricatures of everyone they knew to make Lexa laugh, or they’d just lay down next to each other and talk. But Lexa could rarely get away, so some days, like today, when her friends were busy, she spent her time in the woods that bordered Polis, drawing the animals who took the fragile peace as a sign that it was a good time to multiply in ever increasing numbers. 

She stayed away from panthers and any rabid mutant gorillas--though hopefully she and Lexa had long ago taken care of the only one left--but she loved the bees and the grasshoppers, the colorful birds and the timid deer, sometimes with two heads and sometimes with one. There were other animals she only had Trigedasleng words for, animals that were only somewhat familiar, in that they had cousins known to her ancestors. But there had never been pictures of these animals in her Earth Skills classes on the Ark. New species of birds and rodents, hybrids of fur and fang, irradiated into new creations. She tried to draw them now, to give some semblance of justice to their vivid coats, their small, ferocious faces, the strange ways they made their homes. Clarke liked these unknowable creatures best. She felt a kind of kinship with them that she couldn’t explain. She, too, was different on the ground. She, too, had never found herself on the Ark. 

This particularly afternoon, she watched a family of furry, long-bodied rodents with green-tinged fur build a burrow at the base of a tree. She lost herself in capturing their quick fingers as their worked, their tiny, insignificant movements. But then again, who was she to call them insignificant, just because she would never be invited into their muddy home? 

A twig snapped behind her. The rodents scurried away and Clarke turned, ready to fight if she had to. It had been a year since she fought anyone, but so much had happened to her that it would now always be her first instinct. 

“Relax, it’s just me,” said Bellamy. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Did Lexa send you again? I told her, I don’t need a--”

“She didn’t send me.” Bellamy smiled. “I saw you leave the tower. I followed you. I just--” He rolled his eyes at himself. “I know there’s nothing to be worried about. I know that even if there were, you don’t need me to take care of you. I know that. But I just want you to be safe.”

Clarke tried to push down her irritation. It took some doing. But she knew he meant well, and she was guilty of doing the same for him at times. “Bell, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“I know that,” he repeated. He came to perch next to her on the low branch of the tree in which she had settled. “How’s Octavia?” he asked.

“Don’t you know?”

“Nah. I’m too germy to see the baby, apparently. Lincoln won’t let anyone in.” He smiled. “I don’t think Octavia particularly wants visitors anyway.”

“No. Probably not. It was 29 hours of labor.”

Bellamy gave a low whistle. “I couldn’t do that.” He reached over and squeezed Clarke’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Oh--I mean. I don’t know, it was more her than me.” 

“Even still. Hey, you wanna come have dinner over at mine tonight?”

“Nah, I think Lexa wants us to meet with Floukru leaders. Some kind of diplomatic thing.” Clarke shrugged. “I don’t mind so much. I like Luna.”

“How’s the hospital coming along? Your mom seems really excited. I’ve never seen her so happy.”

“The only thing left is to convince everyone in Arkadia that it’s the best place for the hospital.”

Bellamy nodded, understanding. “We’re at peace now, sure, but plenty of people still don’t trust the grounders.”

“I hate that we still use that word,” Clarke said, fierce and passionate. “We’re all grounders now. Nobody’s in the sky anymore. The ground is all we have. I’m tired of there still being an us and a them.”

She’d had to fight so hard for that opinion. She’d had to watch Lexa almost die for a stupid us-and-them fight. She’d had to kill Finn for it. She’d had to kill dozens of unknown names and faces because nobody on either side had the sense to just ask nicely. Everyone wanted to believe _we’re right and they’re wrong_ and Clarke had long ago grown tired of trying to convince everyone that nobody was always right _or_ wrong. That all of them were just trying to survive. And why shouldn’t they all do it together?

“Camilla will change that,” said Finn. “And all the other kids. Think about it. Camilla’s never going to know that you can’t be both. She’s sky people and grounder. And we have you--you and Lexa. Things are changing, Clarke. They’ve been changing for years.”

“Sometimes it still feels like it can’t change fast enough.”

~*~

Later, Bellamy and Clarke headed back into Polis. It was Market Day, Clarke’s favorite day of the week. She’d never stop being awed by its magnificence, by all of the chaos that somehow still managed to make sense. The Ark had never been like this. Polis on Market Day was the opposite of anything the Ark had ever been--where Clarke’s childhood had been ordered and rationed and endlessly queued, the children of Polis ran free around the edges of the market, dancing and laughing, carrying oranges and other treats in the makeshift baskets of their shirts. Clarke envied them in a strange way. She’d had to fight so hard for her freedom, and they had been born into it, and wore it as their birthright.

They wound their way together through the stalls, dodging the offers of fried fish and woven baskets. Clarke nodded at those who bowed in respect to Wanheda, or the Commander’s own, or just because they knew what she had done and loved her for it. She even sustained a kiss to her knuckles from an old woman with no left ear, who had grabbed her hand as Clarke passed through the crowd. 

Normally Clarke was nervous to brave the crowds of Market Day. She knew that she simply signified too much to the people. But she felt emboldened with Bellamy at her side, and what she had said--what she felt every minute of the day--about being tired of fighting still weighed heavy on her mind. She couldn’t honor that belief by hiding up in the tower. Still, she felt relieved when Bellamy delivered her safely to the rooms at the top of the tower, leaving her with a kiss on the cheek. 

(They were all so affectionate with each other now. They had all lost too much.)

Lexa was bathing in preparation for the diplomacy dinner. Clarke stood in the grand arching doorway between their bedroom and bathroom as Lexa rinsed herself with the hot water. Clarke felt grateful for Lexa’s lithe arms and the way her muscles rippled under her brown skin. She watched the water as it formed dewdrops at the edges of Lexa’s curly hairline and formed tiny rivers down her graceful neck. 

“Are you going to join me, or just stare at me?” Lexa said playfully, looking at Clarke over her shoulder. How could she still make Clarke’s heart beat faster, how could her breath still catch when she saw Lexa’s profile in the right light? 

“I’m not _staring_. I’m just appreciating.” She moved forward and took the towel from the small, heart-faced servant waiting in the corner, dismissing her. When she was gone, Clarke approached the bath, holding the towel open. Lexa stood and stepped into it, smiling gratitude down at Clarke.

“What were you doing with Bellamy?” she asked, in a tone that suggested she already knew and was trying not to be too frustrated. She wrapped the towel tighter around her and let her hair down. Clarke ran her hands down its thick, smooth length and began braiding. She looked at Lexa’s expectant green eyes in the mirror, feeling irritation surge.

“We were in the woods for a little bit--I was safe with him. You know that.”

“I know that you overestimate the strength of this peace.” At this, Clarke’s irritation burst. Lexa was just scared--so was Clarke. They had never gone so long without bloodshed. It took so much getting used to.

“I don’t. I just want to take advantage of it while I still can.” Clarke finished the braid silently, while Lexa watched her in the mirror.

Lexa turned around. She reached up and cupped Clarke’s face in her hands, running her fingertips against the velvet shell of Clarke’s ears before tangling her fingers into Clarke’s hair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I worry too much.”

“Kind of an occupational hazard,” Clarke replied, also in a whisper. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Lexa pulled Clarke’s head closer. “Kind of an occupational hazard.” Her warm lips met Clarke’s and Clarke hadn’t had a home in a long time but this was almost it. Lexa’s body was soft against Clarke’s, whose top was riding up against the damp towel so that it was the only thing separating their bare skin. Clarke let her fingers slip from Lexa’s neck and skate over her body--her shoulders, her elbows, until she relaxed her palms against Lexa’s waist. The slide of their tongues made Clarke shiver. She ran her hands lower until they were clutching the lush landscape of the back of Lexa’s thighs, and Clarke lifted her up onto the counter.

Lexa laughed as Clarke’s mouth roamed from her lips to her neck, until the laugh was swallowed up by a tiny moan. Clarke filed it away in her mind, into a treasure box labeled Things That Were Beautiful, along with the picture of Lexa with her head tilted back and her palms flat against stone when Clarke pulled on the towel and it dropped from Lexa’s body. It revealed the glorious brown-capped peaks of Lexa’s breasts and her muscled, tan torso, dappled with scars and tattoos that Clarke still didn’t fully understand. 

Clarke gazed at her for a moment, unbelieving. Lexa looked down at her and laughed again, sweet and inviting. It was astonishing that Lexa could still ignite this kind of fire in her, this same kind of hushed awe. For so long they never knew when it would happen again, so desperation and solemn reverence became rite, and they were still growing used to time as the rule rather than the exception. It was hard to shake tradition. They were still growing used to the idea of laughter during sex, that smiles could come as frequently as tears.

“What are you laughing at?” Clarke asked, looking up at Lexa’s bright eyes, letting a smile play on her own lips. 

“You always look so amazed. It’s only me.”

“That’s the amazing part, duh,” Clarke replied, and leaned up to capture Lexa’s lips with her own once more. When the breathless exchange of tongue against tongue became too much, Clarke moved her mouth down to Lexa’s collarbone, and down lower still to the hard nub of Lexa’s nipple. Lexa gasped when Clarke dragged her teeth gently along its peak and then sucked hard. She smiled when she felt Lexa’s fingers tugging the hair at the back of Clarke’s head, and repeated the motion again. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Lexa, a word that was the same in English as it was in Trigedasleng. Clarke loved hearing it come out of her mouth. The Commander’s very own, normally reserved and very proper mouth.

Clarke’s smile grew and she moved down even lower. She laid a gentle kiss near Lexa’s bellybutton, another on the inside of her thigh, until she lowered herself to her knees and allowed herself to lick a long, slow line against Lexa’s clit. Lexa sighed, her legs opening wider. Clarke savored the taste of the wet heat against her tongue, wanted to spend hours between Lexa’s legs until she was screaming. But they were expected at dinner in twenty minutes and Clarke settled for teasing her by running just the tip of her tongue along the edges of her labia, around her clit, and back again, until Lexa, stern but gasping, said, “ _Clarke_ ,” and Clarke dove in with abandon. 

There had been other girls in Clarke’s past, and she’d never enjoyed eating them out as much as she loved doing it to Lexa, loved the way Lexa grasped at her hair, rocking into her until they found some kind of rhythm, and the way her breathy moans cascaded into a tangle of words that barely made sense. Clarke slid two fingers into her and glanced up at Lexa’s _O_ of a mouth, then she leaned back down and took her clit back into her mouth, bending her fingers forward in a way she knew all too well would make Lexa melt into a puddle if given enough time. She pumped her fingers in and out and licked and sucked and Lexa seemed as if she didn’t know what she wanted to touch--whether to tangle her fingers in Clarke’s hair and pull, or to hold tight to the edge of the counter, or to grab at Clarke’s shoulders and dig her fingers in until Clarke knew she would have bruises in the morning. Clarke twisted her fingers and Lexa’s entire body tensed beneath her as she came, dripping into Clarke’s eager mouth. 

“Oh,” said Lexa when she was done. She took huge gasping breaths. “Oh.”

“Was that nice?” Clarke said innocently, tilting her face up towards Lexa’s. 

Lexa looked down at her, flushed and smiling. “It was terrible. Just awful.”

“I knew it!” said Clarke. “We’ll have to try it again.”

“Perhaps later.” Lexa rested her head against the mirror and closed her eyes. “For now, I need a break.”

Clarke rose from her knees and leaned over to kiss Lexa’s forehead. She pulled back and Lexa surveyed her with one eye open. “I have bad news, Commander,” Clarke told her in a low voice. “There’s no time for resting. We have a dinner to go to.”

“Oh, that,” said Lexa. “Ugh.”

“I mean, I agree. But you’re the one who wanted it.”

“I suppose it’s a good idea not to snub Luna and start another war.” Lexa opened both eyes and pretended to be considering it. “All right, I’ll allow it. Let’s go.” She hopped off the counter and took Clarke’s hand, pulling her into their bedroom and towards the door that led into the sitting room and out to the halls. Clarke was impressed that she seemed only a little more weak-kneed than usual.

Clarke laughed. “Uh, more bad news, Commander. Unfortunately, you must be clothed for this event.”

“These rules are ridiculous!” Lexa gave a huge mock sigh. “Very well. I’ll get dressed.” 

It was another thing that Clarke loved about Lexa--that nobody knew that under all the serious reservation, under the strategic mind and ferocious instinct, Lexa could be funny. She could laugh, and she could joke, and she knew how to be sunshine, when she felt safe. Clarke wondered how many other people had seen Lexa’s sunshine. She wished that the number, whatever it was, could be larger.

~*~

The dinner was as uneventful as Clarke had both dreaded and hoped. Uneventful meant peace for another day. Uneventful meant they were still safe, that there could be one more night where Lexa fell asleep in her arms, that there was one more drop in the bucket of hopes that kids like Aden and Camilla would never see a day of battle in their whole lives.

A year of peace now, and Clarke was still scared it would disappear at any time.

After the visitors had gone to their rooms, and Lexa and Clarke were alone again--well, as alone as they could be with a guard walking discreetly a few paces behind them--Lincoln approached them on the seventh floor, where he and Octavia lived. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, after bowing to Lexa. “Do you want to see her?”

They followed him into his and Octavia’s quarters. Bellamy and Raven were tiptoeing out just as they came in. “She’s asleep,” whispered Raven. “Camilla, I mean.”

“How’s O?” asked Clarke.

Bellamy smiles. “She’s doing really well.”

Lincoln nodded at them both and he led Clarke and Lexa into his bedroom, where Octavia was reclining on the bed, holding a bundle that Clarke could only assume was Camilla. 

Lexa stepped forward first, and joined Octavia in gazing at the tiny infant. Clarke followed her, and couldn’t believe that this time yesterday, she hadn’t met Camilla yet. “She’s beautiful,” said Lexa in the quietest voice, as if she were terrified to be close to something so precious and new.

“She is,” agreed Clarke. “You look happy, Octavia.”

“I am,” said Octavia, holding Camilla closer. “I really am.”

Lexa turned and looked over her shoulder at Clarke. They smiled at each other, brave and joyful. Clarke was too. She really was.


End file.
